Chapter Twenty-FourCLARA’S BEACH HOUSE,
April 1929
The previous night’s party had included the musical combo from the Roosevelt Hotel, eight cases of Snakebite Stump, and some enthusiastic party-goers stripping down to their underwear to frolic in the surf at 2:00 a.m.
I was clutching my head and downing my extra-strong morning coffee with aspirins when a key unlocked the front door. When it opened, Earl Pearson stood there.
“Hey, Daisy. Didn’t know you were here. Clara told me to come on up when I got back to town. So here I am.” Good thing he hadn’t shown up while Harry was here.
“She’s still asleep. One minute.” I knocked on her bedroom door. When I got no response, I tried the knob, which wasn’t locked.
“Hey, sleeping beauty,” I said, pulling the drapes open. “Wake up. Earl’s her
